


And They Have Escaped the Weight of Darkness

by MadameDeFer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, F/M, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameDeFer/pseuds/MadameDeFer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha finds Bucky first in a hypothetical Captain America 3 setting. You could imagine that this story happens concurrently with whatever's going on with Steve, and that a reunion with him isn't too far off. I aimed for MCU-compliant (maybe?) - Natasha was really born in 1984, and there is no prior relationship between her and the Winter Soldier. This is their first proper meeting, but there is a connection to be found in their pasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Have Escaped the Weight of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. It gets shippy because I can't help myself, and I cannot conceive of these two not having instant sexual tension ok.
> 
> Thanks to Sinaxi for the beta! 
> 
> Title from this [album](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02SOi1ZUh8s).

Nestled on a densely forested hillside overlooking the small French town of Limonest stood an elegant manor house. At first glance, there was nothing sinister about it, a restored, modestly sized 18th century chateau with grey stone walls and extensive, manicured grounds. But Natasha had been staking out the property for most of the day and knew better.

The grounds were covered by a light layer of snow, now riddled with tracks left by the men in tactical gear and carrying military grade weaponry who patrolled the residence day and night. Mercenaries, from one of the more notorious outfits around. Nobody came or left, save for a delivery of groceries, accepted at the front gate by a humorless guard that morning. Once an occasional visitor to a local cafe, the person who lived here hadn’t been seen in weeks. A not impolite but distant man, elderly but not infirm, who spoke in Russian accented French. “Andrei” was the name the bartender knew him by, but to Natasha and dozens of other young recruits who had trained and suffered under him, he was Vasily Karpov. Together with the intel Fury had passed along to her, she was positive she’d finally tracked down his hideaway. And judging by his recent seclusion, Karpov knew he was being hunted.

Breaking in and dispatching the guards that night should have been a simple matter. And it would have been, except someone had gotten there first.

She’d arrived after midnight to find several guards sprawled in the snow, some with broken necks, and others in pools of blood from single gunshot wounds, all fatal. Whoever else was here was an excellent shot. Efficient, too. They’d already visited the gatehouse and de-activated the alarm system. They’d even disabled the recording program on the surveillance cameras. A live feed was still playing, but nothing was being taped. Natasha pushed aside the dead guard slumped over in front of the security monitors and scanned the feeds for signs of the other intruder. She needed to know exactly who she was dealing with.

Muffled semi-automatic gunfire came from the house, accompanied by muzzle flashes lighting up one of the screens. She watched as four more guards went down in the living room and foyer. They’d looked panicked, firing wildly as if at an invisible assailant.

An odd sense of familiarity prickled at her. Her suspicions were confirmed when the intruder, armed with a silenced pistol, stepped into view, practically materializing from the shadows. It was dark, and his telltale arm was covered by his coat and gloves, but she knew that silhouette.

Bucky Barnes had been in the wind for nearly two years. And here she was just stumbling across him by accident.

Or not so accidental, she realized. Evidence unearthed in the aftermath of Hydra’s fall suggested that it had once infiltrated the KGB as effectively as it had done with Shield. It seemed the Winter Soldier was here to settle an old score, just like her.  
The trouble was, she’d been hoping to have an illuminating chat with her old boss before putting him down. Of all the villainous former Soviet generals in all the world, he had to be after hers.

She watched him ascend the grand staircase, presumably on his way to the – unfortunately unmonitored – master bedroom, and made up her mind. There was no way of knowing what kind of state of mind Barnes was in, and a confrontation here would do neither of them any good. He could have Karpov if he wanted. It was time for plan B.

The east wing held a library and study. If she couldn’t interrogate Karpov, his files were her next best bet. With any luck, she could be in and out with Barnes none the wiser. She made her way swiftly and silently towards the house, keeping to the trees lining the long driveway before breaking away to slip around to the backyard. The library had French double doors which opened out to the terrace and garden. It took only seconds to unlock and she slipped inside.

The library was a substantial one - two-stories, taking up the entire wing, lined with shelves of vellum bound books and filled with plush mahogany furnishings. An ornate executive desk stood at one end, framed by expansive windows overlooking the front driveway. Karpov always had expensive tastes.

A massive portrait of the man hung over the fireplace. It only caught her attention because she’d seen it before, decorating the wall of his former office in Moscow, right next to the Lenin portrait. The bastard had kept the damn thing, saved it from the fire that was supposed to have killed him all those years ago. She bit back a scowl at the sight of his familiar signet ring. Like of all his students, she’d been required to kiss it more than once.

She closed the door behind her with a soft click and approached the desk. She ignored the computer on it for the time being to focus on the drawers below. Karpov had always favored paper records, and chances were that the information she sought would be filed that way.

A drawer opened to reveal a biometric safe, but Natasha had come prepared and unlocked it with little trouble. The safe’s contents, however, proved disappointing. A handful of manila folders lay within, some containing light, inconsequential looking data, and others were empty. In fact, it almost seemed like the safe had been recently cleared out. She checked the other drawers and found them similarly bare.

Something wasn’t right. Her eyes alighted on the fireplace, noting the lack of fresh firewood. Not recently used? Perhaps Karpov hadn’t secluded himself at all? He could be long gone from this place, taking his sensitive files with him. But he’d clearly meant for someone to think he was still living here.

She’d been about to start up the computer in front of her, but instinct told her someone was approaching the library doors. She was across the room in a flash and crouched in the small alcove behind the spiral stairs to the upper level. Not the best hiding place, but her options were limited. Barely seconds later the door swung open, and in walked Barnes.

Her pulse quickened – their last, almost fatal, encounter was still a vivid memory. How would he react if he saw her here, now? Steve had been certain he was no longer under Hydra’s control, but that just made him a wildcard now.

Fighting hard to keep her breathing even, she closed one hand on the grip of her sidearm and calculated how long it would take her to make a run a for the back door if she needed an exit. In the meantime, she kept her eyes trained on Barnes through gaps in the stair railing. He moved like a shadow behind Karpov’s desk, cutting an imposing figure against the moonlight filtering in through the windows.

Was Karpov lying dead upstairs? Or had Barnes been unable to find him and come here looking for traces? He was accessing the computer now. She couldn’t see what he was doing from her vantage point, but the screen partially lit up his face. His hair was still long, but tied back, and he bore a faint five o’clock shadow. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he did appear more clear-eyed. Different from the confused, weaponized shell of a man he’d been that day in Washington.

He stopped typing suddenly and took a small step back from the desk, brow furrowed. She feared she might have alerted him to her presence somehow, but then a throaty, Russian-speaking voice unexpectedly issued forth from the computer speakers.

“Codename Winter Soldier. It’s been a while.”

Karpov. Hearing him still nauseated her, even years later. Barnes’ narrowed eyes were fixed on the monitor, so she had to assume Karpov’s face had appeared via webcam.

“I see you’ve been making a mess of my home,” Karpov continued, switching to English.

“You knew I would I come here,” Barnes replied quietly, his tone even and controlled.

“That can’t be a surprise to you. And you should have known better than to walk into such an obvious trap.”

The ghost of a smirk passed over Barnes’ face. “Some trap.” He reached over to stick a flash drive into the computer and leaned down to type.

“You seem quite lucid, all things considered. I’d heard of the lengths your new handlers went to control you. In my day our methods were not so crude.”

Barnes continued tapping at the keys.

“…But that’s Americans, for you. I did warn them - that there’s only so much the mind can take. But here you are, resilient to the end.”

“You keep talking like I asked for your opinion. It won’t do you any good.”

“Oh, I’m aware you’re attempting to trace my location. I merely hoped to reason with you for a moment. Ask yourself this, Soldier: what does killing me accomplish? I’m a relic from a bygone era. Do you really want more blood on your hands? This time of your own volition?”

Barnes remained silent, but she thought she saw his jaw tense. Slowly, Natasha found herself releasing the grip of her sidearm.

“Hydra has fallen, your enemies are dead.”

“Not all of them.”

“None with any real power left. Come now, are you going to kill a feeble old man in his retirement?”

More silence.

“I wonder, what would your Captain say?”

Barnes flinched, and something cracked and sparked beneath his hands. He’d pressed the keyboard too hard.

A low chuckle emanated from Karpov. She could hear the sneer in it. “I must have struck a nerve. That would be a fascinating wound to pick at, if we had the time. But ours is just about up.”

Movement at the tree line by the driveway outside caught Natasha’s attention. More than one figure was shifting around in the darkness. He must have had a back-up security team on stand-by somewhere else. Barnes was glaring at Karpov. It didn’t appear that he’d noticed the danger. And he was in full view of the window…

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said as he removed his flash drive. “I’ll catch up with you soon.”

“I look forward to it. And one more thing, Soldier. _Sputnik._ ”

Barnes froze. His eyes appeared to go out of focus and he stumbled forward. She feared he was about to collapse, but his metal arm shot out to brace himself on the desk just in time. He stood there blinking rapidly and breathing heavily.

The mercenaries outside were going to start shooting at any moment. She could risk a confrontation with Barnes or do nothing and possibly watch him die. Her choice was clear.

“Get down!” she shouted, leaping out from behind the stairs and drawing her weapon.

Barnes’ head jerked up towards her, eyes wide. Recognition sparked there. He must have understood her because he dropped to the floor a split second later. But not fast enough. The window shattered behind him and he grunted as at least one of their bullets connected.

Natasha fired through the ruined window four times before rolling to take cover behind the corner where the fireplace protruded from the wall. At least one of the mercs had gone down outside. She crouched below the line of fire and peeked around her corner to see that Barnes had moved to the other side of the desk. He was favoring his right arm and had his pistol drawn in the other.

Bullets peppered the room around them, destroying Karpov’s computer and several rows of his expensive books. Barnes glanced her way again, and their eyes met through the hail of gunfire.

“I’ll cover you!” she yelled, gesturing for him to move. There was brief pause in the shooting from outside, and Natasha whipped up to fire several more rounds. The mercs had started openly advancing on the house. They probably intended to surround the wing and flank them, but it briefly put them in stark relief against the snow, making them easy targets. Another went down as her shots connected, but she counted at least four more who quickly ducked back behind the trees.

Barnes, in the meantime, had rolled away from the desk and crouched behind a couch just across from her. More rounds burst in from the window and she tensed as several hit the corner of the fireplace, chipping the stone near her head.

Barnes darted up from the couch and fired once, twice. Someone let out a cry and he dropped back down.

“Three to go,” she called out while deftly reloading her Glock. Barnes nodded.

In unison they both leaned around and fired. The remaining mercs had also emerged from cover to resume firing, but she and Barnes were the better shots. One went down, then another. The last gunman made a sudden throwing motion.

“Grenade!” Natasha warned. But she’d barely gotten the word out before Barnes had leapt over the couch, caught the thing in mid-air with his metal hand and launched it back outside. It exploded right at the merc’s feet.

Silence fell as the smoke outside cleared. Neither of them moved.

Finally, Natasha let out an impressed breath. “I guess he walked right into that one.”

Barnes stared at her. Possibly he was still rattled from the effects of Karpov’s trigger word. Or maybe that was just the first joke he’d heard in seventy years. Of course, there was also always the possibility that she wasn’t as funny as she thought she was.

She straightened, stepped out into the room and slowly holstered her gun, deliberately not looking at him as she did. The once picturesque library was in tatters. As was Karpov’s portrait, she was pleased to note.

“He’s not going to like that,” she smirked. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Barnes also holstering his weapon. She was growing more confident in her assessment of him by the second.

“…Agent Romanoff.” His tone was neutral, but he looked like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. This must be long past the point when he usually did his disappearing act.

“You can call me Natasha,” she replied. “I’m not an agent anymore. Not officially, at least.”

“What are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are, I suspect. You’re not the only one gunning for Karpov.”

He nodded faintly and continued appraising her uncertainly. Sirens sounded in the distance just then. The estate wasn’t that isolated from the town so all that racket would have woken up a few neighbors. It was time to get out of there.

Barnes still hesitated. She wondered…

"I don’t know what you’re planning to do next, but that’s going to need tending,” she said, looking at the blood staining his shoulder from his gunshot wound. “And I’ve got a safe house twenty minutes away, in Lyon.”

He glanced at his injury as if he’d forgotten about it. “Why would you help me?”

“I think we can help each other, actually. Karpov’s a bit more elusive than expected and pooling our resources could get us both to him that much sooner.” She began walking towards the back doors and paused to look over her shoulder. “It’s up to you.”

The reservation hadn’t left his eyes, but if her instincts were right about him she already knew his answer.

“Lead the way.”

\- - -

Following a ten minute hike through the woods and down the hill from the estate, they reached her car - a Renault hatchback she’d recently ‘borrowed’ – parked on a back road. Police sirens still wailed nearby but there was luckily no sign of any patrol cars in the area yet.

Natasha first checked the back seat to rummage through her first aid kit. “Here,” she said, offering Barnes some combat gauze as she sat down in the driver’s seat next to him.

“…Thank you.” The words came out stilted. Not a phrase he was accustomed to saying, no doubt.

After a few minutes of detouring through more back roads to avoid the police, they emerged on the main highway towards Lyon. Barnes was quiet for a time as she drove, keeping the gauze pressed to his shoulder and his thoughts to himself. But she could feel him glancing at her occasionally.

“You’re taking a huge risk with me.”

She raised a surprised brow. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I just thought I should...” He trailed off with an uneasy grimace. “I don’t know how safe it is to be around me.”

“Are you planning on shooting me again, Barnes?”

“ _No,_ ” he said with a sharp look, nearly stumbling over that one word in his haste to get it out. There was a sudden earnestness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before – a need to be believed.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

He swallowed and stared out his window pensively. The urge to reassure him grew.

“I get it, you don’t trust yourself,” she added softly. “If it helps, that should be the last time a trigger phrase affects you significantly. I don’t think Karpov expected you to recover that quickly.”

He met her eyes searchingly. It was likely she’d just raised some new questions for him, but there’d be time to explain that later.

“Also somebody’s vouched for you,” she continued. “And I do trust him.”

Remorse shone in those blue depths and he turned away again, shifting as if uncomfortable.

“Sounds like blind faith.”

She smiled. “Well, he’s not usually wrong.”

Nearly a full minute passed before Barnes spoke again.

“Are you going to tell him where to find me?”

“…Is that what you want?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. The silence stretched.

“Until you’re ready, then,” she concluded.

“He wouldn’t like being kept in the dark.”

She wondered again just how much he remembered. Enough to understand the kind of man Steve was, at least.

“No, he wouldn’t,” she replied quietly. “But I think he’d understand.”

\- - -

Natasha’s safe house was on a cramped residential street just off of Rue du Dauphiné, not far from the city center. It was a quaint, cream colored, two-story single home surrounded by a low hedge wall, situated cozily in the middle of other apartments and townhomes.

“It’s not much, but it’s secure,” Natasha explained as they entered through the garage door. “The owner’s an old friend, and she’s vacationing in the Alps.”

She nodded towards the personal photographs lining the mantle which depicted the smiling faces of a dark haired, middle aged woman with various family members. Her name was Melanie, a former intelligence officer whom Natasha had helped out of a tight spot once a few years back. In return she’d been offered the use of the house as a base for whenever she was in the region.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said as she set the first aid kit down on the kitchen table and shrugged out of her jacket.

Admittedly, it was a little surreal seeing Barnes in such a domestic setting, shifting on his feet like an awkward guest. If his injury pained him he gave no sign, removing his ruined coat and the underlying sweater until he was down to just a black tank.

Looking at the metal arm was unavoidable. Everything was exposed – the lines where metal fused with flesh, the scarring… And he was evading her eyes, she realized. Did he fear seeing disgust? Or pity? Both, perhaps. But she felt neither, and gave nothing away.

When she took the seat beside him he finally returned her gaze, and whatever he saw there seemed to ease him. He relaxed his right arm along the table and she went to work sterilizing and dressing his torn shoulder.

“The bullet’s gone clean through the muscle. You were lucky.”

Not that it would have made much difference to a super soldier, of course. She figured gunshots to bones or major arteries didn’t have nearly the same effect on them as they did ordinary people. This wound was barely half an hour old and it was already showing signs of healing.

“I’ve had worse,” he murmured.

His gaze rested on her shoulder fleetingly, and she realized he’d been focusing on the place where he’d put his own bullet in her not too long ago. He looked like he wanted to say something but the right words wouldn’t come.

Natasha knew his thoughts. Knew why he struggled to voice them. Not that it was unusual for her to read people – that was her job, after all. But reading Barnes right now didn’t feel like it came from skill. It wasn’t clinical. Indeed, she wasn’t sure if it was possible for her to regard him detachedly. Everything she perceived in him hit too close to home.

“Can I ask…” Barnes said. “What did Karpov do to you?”

“Something tells me you’ve already guessed,” she replied carefully.

He studied her in the soft parlor light. “You were in the Red Room.”

It didn’t surprise her that he knew that term. Karpov’s legacy went back a long way. But it disquieted her, this feeling that he could see her as clearly as she saw him.

She lifted her chin slightly. “Top of my class.”

“It showed.”

Natasha’s hand paused mid-air while reaching for a bandage. Was that a compliment?

Barnes looked equally startled. “In Washington, I mean.” He cleared his throat clumsily. “When we fought, I was…You - you were good.”

Unbidden, a smile tugged at her mouth. “Just ‘good’?”

“Very,” he added hastily.

It was unfair to tease him. She softly bit down her lip to keep her smile from growing, something he appeared to find distracting. He blinked rapidly and tore his eyes away. For a long moment he stared hard at a spot on the table, flexing and clenching his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “For hurting you.”

He regarded her with impossibly sad eyes and her hands stilled in their task.

“I remembered that day almost immediately,” he continued. “It’s the worst moments I can recall most clearly.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I nearly killed you. And it wasn’t even the first - was that you in Odessa?”

She gave him a small, slow nod and he seemed to deflate just a little. “You’ve been more gracious with me than I deserve.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head ruefully. “But it was my hands.”

“…Yes. But it’s not who you are.”

“Does it matter?”

“I have to believe that it does.”

Something in her tone made him pause. Natasha lowered her hands from his shoulder and considered him silently. There was a line she could cross here, a line she’d drawn for her own protection a long time ago. A part of her was alarmed by how badly she wanted to do it.

She let out a breath and briefly closed her eyes. “If you remember the Red Room then you know what it meant to survive there. How we were trained. And used. I… earned my rank.”

She had his undivided attention. Strangely, it made this easier.

“I continued earning it, long after I put that place behind me. It was all I knew. And I didn’t think there were other options… for someone like me.” Her lips pressed together tightly as she faltered. “As it turns out, I was wrong. I got another chance to make things right, and I’ve been trying ever since. My hands will never be clean again. But I’m learning to live with what I’ve done, and what I’ve lost… And now Captain America calls me friend. So I figure I must be doing something right.”

His face had softened imperceptibly as he watched her, but a note of defeat remained in his voice. “He wouldn’t recognize his friend in me.”

“James,” she said suddenly. She hadn’t planned on saying his name and wasn’t sure why she had. He grew very still at the sound of it. “You might never reclaim the person you were. I didn’t. But as long as you have the choice, you can still be the person you want to be.”

Seconds ticked by as they looked at each other, tethered in that moment. It was Natasha who finally broke the hold, as she blinked and shifted to resume bandaging his wound.

“And anyhow, I seem to recall getting you back a few times that day,” she quipped with a smirk. “I’d say we’re even.”

He seemed taken aback, but then a tiny, returning smile crossed his face, chasing away the haunted lines of his eyes. For just an instant she recognized traces of that fresh-faced young man from photographs and newsreels, already worn and hardened, but who still laughed easily and often around his friends.

Perhaps most startling was the glow she felt seeing it. She cleared her throat and sought a change of subject.

“So I take it there wasn’t enough time to trace Karpov’s signal?” she asked, busying herself with putting the finishing touches on his bandage.

Barnes nodded. “I couldn’t pin him down. He used a sophisticated scrambler.”

“Too sophisticated for someone who’s supposedly retired,” she noted. “He’s got help.”

She explained how she’d dug up evidence of Karpov’s formerly defunct Department X in the wake of the Hydra data leak. She’d not only discovered that the man was still alive, but there were also indications he’d resurrected some of his old network, including the mercenary outfit hired to protect him. He had a symbiotic working relationship with Hydra for decades – it was thanks to their influence he stayed off Shield’s radar for so long.

Nearly an hour later Natasha’s documents on Karpov were spread across the table in front of them. Barnes recounted how he’d tracked down the estate through records in one of the old facilities where he’d been kept in cryostasis. Those led him to Karpov’s former KGB liaison officer in Moscow, whom Barnes said he ‘convinced’ to divulge the last known whereabouts of his Department X associates. Following various bread crumb trails led him to Limonest.

As luck would have it, some of Barnes’ details could be cross-referenced with her own intel. One of his leads was a Swiss lawyer named Emil Liethmann, a lead Barnes hadn’t pursued since the man had been dead for five years. But Natasha remembered seeing that name on Shield extradition records, or rather, a Geneva-based law firm called Liethmann & Stahler. Now that she knew there was a definite connection between one of the firm’s founding partners and Karpov, it was worth looking into them further.

They might have stumbled onto one of Karpov’s personal attorneys.

After running the firm’s lawyers against her database, Natasha decided the most likely candidate was Simon Rohde. He’d helped negotiate a prisoner transfer involving a Russian student whom Shield had taken into custody three years ago on spying allegations. She’d been cleared of wrongdoing at the time and returned to her country, but Hydra’s fingerprints had been all over that case. It looked like they’d stepped in to free one of Karpov’s agents, likely on his request.

“Rohde was also Liethmann’s protégée, going back two decades,” Natasha added, looking up at Barnes from her laptop. “If he trusted anyone to take over his duties to Karpov, it’s got to be this guy.”

“It’s a good place to start,” he concurred while pulling a navy blue knit sweater over his head. He’d found some spare clothes upstairs to replace his ruined ones – courtesy of one of Melanie’s male friends.

He glanced at her briefly and might have spoken, but seemed to think better of it. Instead he made a show of unloading and reloading his pistol before returning it to the concealed holster at his waist. Natasha recognized the stalling tactic for what it was. They’d come to the crossroads of the evening.

“I know you’re accustomed to working alone by now,” she said gently. “And maybe it would simplify things.”

By the way his gaze dropped before she even finished the sentence, she realized she was fighting a losing battle.

“But you’re welcome to come with me,” she persisted. “I like our chances better together. Two former Red Room agents are better than one. And it’s the last thing Karpov’s expecting.”

“I’m not ungrateful for your help. I want you to know that.” His mouth twisted apologetically. “But… I’m no good to anyone. It’d be better if I kept my distance. If you find him first, I won’t get in your way.”

Ah. The tried and true ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line, Natasha thought with a pang. Only in this case, he actually believed it, and had good reason to. There was a kind of safety in loneliness, and he clung to it like a life line. She understood that feeling well.

Despite his best efforts he couldn’t hide that from her, and she felt a tightness constrict inside her chest.

“It’s your decision,” she replied with a faint, sad smile.

He avoided her eyes again, searching for something to do with his hands and settling for gathering up all the files on the table into a neat pile.

“There’s one more thing you should know,” Natasha said. “Karpov might have information that I need, and if I can’t get it anywhere else, I’ll need to interrogate him first.”

At his enquiring look, she continued, “I suspect that while rebuilding his old syndicate, he’s also restarted the Red Room program. With fresh recruits. And that Russian student accused of spying – she has all the signs.”

Natasha looked gravely at the girl’s mug shot on her screen. Yulia Bespelova was her name – an alias, no doubt – and she was very young, only nineteen at the time of her arrest. But her eyes looked twice that age.

“I was certain I’d destroyed that place, every branch of it. If he’s brought it back I need to know everything.” Her brow furrowed. “And if there’s kids involved I’m going to get them out. They always started them young.”

Something dark glinted in his eyes. The thought of that place back in business clearly didn’t sit well.

“If I could ask for a favor, it’d be that you get what you can out of him and pass it along to me?” she said. “If you find him first, that is.”

He nodded slowly and handed her his phone, allowing her to program in her contact information. If he noticed her memorizing his own number before returning it, he gave no sign.

Natasha idly rubbed her thumb against her chin as she watched him put on a coat and gloves. He was making a show of that, too, holding off their goodbyes as long as possible.

Change your mind, she almost said out loud. You don’t need to leave.

But she was afraid to say it; of what she might give away. It had been a long time since her poker face had felt this shaky. He was moving towards the front door now. She had mere seconds left.

“Thank you, Natasha,” he said, his voice tentative as her name passed his lips for the first time. He pushed back the strands of hair hanging in his face, looking at the floor, the walls, and finally back at her. “Take care and… good luck.”

“James, wait.”

He froze on the spot, watching her stand and approach him. Pulling out her phone, she entered in a rapid string of keys.

“I have two tickets for the 8AM train from Part-Dieu,” she began, and a moment later his phone buzzed from his pocket. Watching him check the screen and the mobile boarding pass that had appeared there, she continued, “And if you feel differently later, one of them is yours to claim.”

His jaw flexed as he met her eyes again, but he didn’t answer in words, only managing a final, lingering nod.

She watched him through a window, shoulders only slightly hunched against the cold as he strode away through gently falling snow. When he paused at the front gate, she thought he might look back at her. But then, like a whisper in the wind, he was gone.  
A strange ache settled around her heart. She ignored it, or tried to, occupying herself with doing more comprehensive research on her target. There was a mission to attend to, contacts to be made.

\- - -

Before sunrise she’d arranged accommodations in Geneva and plans for a surveillance detail on Rohde, even squeezing in some shut eye. She ditched the stolen car somewhere it wouldn’t be traced back to the house and took the metro to Gare de la Part-Dieu.

Dressed in another jean, boots, scarf and leather jacket combo and her messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she looked like any other young tourist. She boarded the high speed TGV train to Geneva and found her seat, a window one around a table for four. She passed the time until departure going over her mission details on her phone. An unnecessary task, considering she’d practically memorized everything already. But it sufficed as a distraction from looking out the window for signs of a familiar figure on the platform.

As the final boarding call rang out, the temptation to look became too strong. The platform was still crowded with travelers, but if he was out there she would have spotted him. He was good at blending in, but picking out faces was a specialty of hers.

The train started moving. He wasn’t coming.

She leaned back from the window with a soundless sigh. The carriage was only sparsely filled. All was silent save for the dull rumblings of the train and murmurs of nearby passengers.

Then the doors slid open, and she felt his presence before she saw him. He came to a stop in the aisle next to her and she raised her eyes.

“Good morning,” he greeted, regarding her with the warmest expression she’d seen out of him yet. Her face lit up before she could stop it.

“Good morning.”

He shifted on his feet, but not in same awkwardly unsure manner as the night before. He knew where he wanted to be. “I… was going to get you coffee from the bar first, but I realized I don’t know how you take it.”

A surprised laugh nearly escaped her. “Um, a cafe latte would be nice? With a shot of caramel.”

He might have concealed a small laugh just then too. “Really?”

“It’s my favorite,” she replied cheekily.

“Alright.” In the light of day the blues in his sweater brought out his eyes in an appealing way. It helped that he was giving her a look that could only be described as fond. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Get it together, Natasha, she thought, watching him go. With a bemused shake of her head she cupped her jaw in her palm and rested her elbow on the table. The Winter Soldier was bringing her breakfast. What an unexpected week this was turning out to be.

Five minutes later he returned as promised, bearing the coffee and croissants. He even brought packets of jam.

“Thanks,” she said cheerily as he took the seat across from her.

“It’s the least I can do.”

He traced idle patterns on the side of his own coffee cup, looking briefly lost in thought.

“About what you said earlier… tracking down the new Red Room?”

He glanced back at her, and she recognized that same earnestness in his face he had previously shown in their car ride.

“I’d like to help you, if I can.” He swallowed, but he looked cautiously hopeful. “If you’d have me, that is.”

“I would.”

Some of the lingering tension in his shoulders dissipated, and he seemed to relax more comfortably in the seat. In time, perhaps he’d let his guard down even more. But he’d stopped running, at least. It was a start.

Natasha told herself it was for Steve’s sake that she cared. She also told herself that the warmth spreading through her chest in that moment was just due to the coffee.

She set her cup down to remove the lid and grabbed a handful of sugar packets. He watched her pour them out, one brow quirked.

“What?” she smirked. “I have a sweet tooth.”

He stifled a laugh, but a crooked grin broke out anyway, illuminating his boyish features. She wondered if something had crossed his mind that he was too gentlemanly to say.

If she wasn’t careful she was going to blush, she mused with a wry smile.

Yes. It was definitely just the coffee.


End file.
